Screwups
by azure feathers
Summary: Not everything goes according to plan. However, that's not always a bad thing.  M for naughtiness later. MxM


Screwups

**Lololololol crackstory. Didn't even proofread, BAM. Well, enjoy it anyway. It was actually pretty hard to be IC with these two, so I'd loooove feedback about that. It will definitely improve as the story proceeds, but still.  
Also, this follows the plot somewhat but deviates quite obviously, especially in dialogue. Deal plz. xD  
And the final note, I need to give credit to all the fantastic FF authors of Dexter fictions. I read a lot to help me grasp the characters better, and without them this would have been even less accurate.**

...

I didn't like tooting my own horn- and by that I meant I loved reveling in how great I am –but damn, I was good. Pissing off Debra was a cinch, as was finding an excuse to see Dexter... Dex.

Jesus, I loved just _thinking _his name. You can imagine what seeing him was like, during the rare opportunities I got. And now we'd be alone in his house (I know it inside out, of course), just he and I, serial killer and serial killer, big brother Biney and little brother Dex. How great would that feel? Of course, I couldn't tell him yet. That would have to wait. I had that flawlessly planned out too, of course; look up organized in the dictionary and you'd find me sitting there with that stupid perfect boyfriend, friendly doctor look on my face.

I shuffled in front of his blue door, doing a last check of supplies. Wouldn't do to mess things up. Beer, check. Steak, check. Excuse, check. All that was left was to ring the doorbell. My stomach did a little backflip at the thought, and I almost broke out into a stupid grin. Dex did that to me.

_Ding-dong._

A muffled voice from inside, a second or two of waiting, and the door opened.

"Hey." I smiled the garden-variety boyfriend smile and waited for a reaction from those eyebrows of his. Sure enough they crumpled inward, smashing down on his eyelids in an expression of fake surprise- sure, Dex was surprised to see me there, but the only reason for the outward manifestation of that was so he seemed more normal. People always portrayed their emotions so openly, writing them across their faces; if he didn't, he would seem weird. He couldn't have that.

"Hey," He said after a bit of a hesitation, pressing his lips together a little. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm having a bit of trouble with Deb, and I thought you might be able to help." I smiled again, this time apologetically with a hint of guilt. How I wish I could tell you right here, right now, Dexter. You don't need to pretend with me. I know what you are. I don't need those stupid little acts, that sense of "normalcy" to keep me happy, like Debra does. You don't have to hide yourself. "You know her better than anybody- and anyway, I brought steaks and a six-pack of beer." Grin.

He let me in. I guess even serial killers liked a good steak.

The house is nice, of course, as it was the first few times I saw it- when I broke in. I said so, minus the last bit. That might complicate things _just _a little bit. Complication wasn't part of the plan.

We made small talk, regular people talk. Though that talk is why I'd visited, supposedly, it meant nothing to me. What did mean something to me was his kitchen. It was so... neat. Systematically organized. Everything arranged by size and weight and function, even goddamn color, and I had to stop myself from laughing. The little brother picked up his big brother's traits. I'd never thought neatness was genetic, but my surroundings proved otherwise.

"What are you looking for?" Dex finally asked when the search got too lengthy.

"Do you have a knife for the steaks?" I replied, scratching the back of my head like I was stumped. Dexter opened the drawer near my arm, revealing a fantastic, wicked-looking knife. He gripped it in his hand and my breath caught in my throat. The way his hand wrapped around the handle made me want to cry for the perfection of it; a vein standing out on his arm and the little golden-brown hairs on his arm shining in the kitchen light suddenly made me realize how _attractive _he was. My little brother fleshed out well, and I was proud of it.

I found myself getting slightly carried away, thinking of blood dripping from that knife and mingling with those shiny hairs and coating the tops of his shoes. How beautiful that would be... when we were reunited, when I told him the truth, I would get to see him like that. We would get to be like that together. Two bloody brothers and one screaming victim. How perfect.

The knife was well-sharpened, of course. It slid through the steak easily like one of my knives through a hooker's neck. Dexter and I continued our Debra chatter, curse that woman and her convenience, and he gave me some "champion" relationship advice. I reminded myself that he and I were very different in that area; as I was a passionate sex fiend, so he was an emotionless shell. I wondered if he could ever get it up with a woman- then I wondered if that was a weird thing to wonder, particularly since the man toward whom my thoughts were directed was my brother. Well, I was screwed up anyway. Didn't really matter.

The steak was, of course, delicious, and the beer supply dwindled quick. As my brother ate, I studied his face. My eyes scanned from his hair, messy in that normal kind of way, to his chin, dusted with honey stubble. He had our mother's nose. I wanted to tell him that. He wasn't like me; it was much easier for him to blend in. I, with my dark hair and sharp, almost hawklike features, was not so lucky. I looked like an academic, an intellectual; more was expected of me to maintain that look of "sane". Dex could just pass himself off as a guy who thought blood was cool, just a kid with the right connections. He could be a jock, if he wanted to. He certainly had the body for it.

Was that weird? I chewed my steak thoughtfully. He was my brother, so I ought to understand every aspect about him, right? Observing him thoroughly wasn't weird. The physical parts that made up my Dex weren't outside those lines, right?

As he got up to rinse off our dishes, I realized that I'd made a very fatal mistake. Something I hadn't calculated. Dexter was annoyingly attractive, and I was stupidly excited about that. About my _brother. _Damn it, sometimes it wasn't actually that great, being fucked up.

I knew I had the freedom of physical contact after the truth was out, but until then I was Debra's perfect boyfriend. Perfect boyfriends weren't attracted to their girlfriends' brothers. I would have to wait.

Miscalculation number two: the strength of my resolve.

The need for contact was too much for me, I knew that even before I told myself I had it under control. So I started thinking in a different direction. How could I play it off? How could I make Dex want to speak to me again afterward? I guess I'd just drank three beers... alcohol tolerance ran in the family, but he didn't need to know that. I could be drunk. But what if I wanted to do it again? Oh, that was selfish. Just once would be enough. Nevermind my stupid "girlfriend" and my meticulous plans. Could things still work out how I wanted them to? Yes, if I was careful enough. If I pretended to be drunk, everything would be okay afterwards. And I'd be so much the better.

I stood up and collected the various beer bottles, trying to work up a bit of a drunken redness in my cheeks. It wasn't hard, and when I came over to him I made sure to lower my eyelids a little bit. His back was turned, and when he turned to get the bottles from me my stomach lurched. How odd. I didn't bat an eyelash as I watched a screaming woman bleed to death, but the sight of my brother's eyelashes casting dancing shadows on his cheeks sent me into a state of panic.

I waited for him to rinse out the bottles and put them in the recycling bin. I swear the second hand on the clock slowed, and I could have heard a tick breathe in the silence. When he turned back to me, a "well, that was nice" smile on his face, I acted.

There was a thumps as his back hit the counter rim, and a little surprised syllable tried to escape from his lips. I pressed my mouth into his and a wave of relief surged over me, followed immediately by another when he didn't pull away. I observed that his lips were a bit chapped, and if he ever got chapstick I'd bet my life on it being strawberry. Or maybe I'd just have bought strawberry for him.

The kiss, long as it was, was still far too short when I pulled back, shame written all over my face. I blinked hard as if I was tired, mixed with a little bit of confusion.

"God, I'm so sorry, I... I think I had a bit too much to drink," I said pleadingly, rubbing my head. What would Deb say if she found out? What am I gonna do? What will Dex do? Will he tell her? Jesus, what did I just do?

Those would be Rudy's thoughts.

Unfortunately for the world, Rudy and Brian didn't quite match up.

As I searched for a way to evade an awkward silence, my phone rang. If ever I had loved Debra, it was then. I excused myself and headed outside. She wasn't mad anymore, it seemed, and wanted me to come over. I needed to piss her off again, because I really didn't feel like dealing with her then and she was supposed to be mad for longer.

"Not tonight, baby," I said lamely in response to her pleas for my company. "I had a few too many and I'd rather go home. My house is closer."

"To where?"

"To Dexter's house." Perfect. Right in the groin, Deb. She'd have words to say to Dex later, I knew, and for that I apologized.

"Oh." Ooh, pissy mode. She'd be mad for a while longer. Damn, I loved messing with people's brains. It was almost as fun as cutting them out.

I headed back inside and helped Dex wipe off the table. Then I did a final check for my belongings, making sure I had my keys- neglecting to pick up my cell phone –and said my goodbyes.

"You okay to drive?" My brother asked, and the look in his eyes set me on edge. It definitely wasn't unfriendly, more... mocking. He knew how lame my excuse was. He knew I was a pretender.

Guess what, Dexter? You're a pretender too.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. My house isn't too far from here. See you around, and thanks for the advice. Really. I needed it." I grinned good-naturedly and was on my way.

...

When I got home, I kicked things.

Lots of things. Chairs, the edge of my bed, the door of my walk-in freezer... I ended up breaking a wine glass, too. But I deserved the pain, seeing as I'd just fucked up the plan I'd had set for months. What was I _thinking?_ He was supposed to be my brother. And his brother kissed him? When he found out, what would he say? That I was disgusting? Everything was spinning out of my control. I screwed up. It was my goddamn spitfire hormones, I knew it, acting up. That's why Deb liked me so much, I knew. Because I was so passionate. But now that had gotten the better of me and everything was so fucked that I didn't know how to fix it; cool and calculated me had a meltdown and released all those emotions I saved for my victims and for Debra's body.

Wait a minute.

I remembered the pause between the start and finish of that kiss; Dexter had not been disgusted. Most likely he didn't care. Though it would complicate things, it was workable. I could even get closer to Dex that way, and accomplish some of my own ends. Let off some steam. If we shared a secret like an affair together, it would make a fantastic connection that would only open doors on the way to telling my little brother the truth. That he and I were two parts of the same serial killer coin, I the head, the lustful, wild Ice Box Killer, he the tail, the secretive, contained hero-killer. That last bit didn't make sense, but I'd figure that out.

Even with my screwup, everything could proceed as planned- _better_ than planned.

I'd be damned if I wasn't happy about it.


End file.
